Secrets in Torres Manor
by Xoriotgirlxo
Summary: The men who carried her away begin to dig and finish burying her. I walk away, my stride light and airy. A great weight has been lifted from these heavy shoulders. Gracie has been put to rest. It's time for Adam to walk free. Old fashiond Fadam.
1. Dust to Dust

**A/N Hey guys so me and my friend decided to write a fanfic together. Her user name is Lizrocks19 and she will be writing Adam's p.o.v i'm writing Fiona's. Review and we'll love you forever. It takes place in the past. Adam is the son of a lord and Fiona is a Baroness. Please give it a chance. **

Adam

I stare at the casket before me with an odd sense of surrealism. Everyone has wished to see their own funeral to see who would show up and mourn; if your friends would be there, your family would cry, everything else. I had never thought I'd be so conscious of everything that was going on. Actually, I had never thought I'd be alive when I attended my own funeral.

Yes, the funeral is for me. Well, who I was. I am – was – Gracie Torres, beloved daughter of Lord and Lady Torres. She was something from a fairy tale. Pale skin, shining eyes, always smiling. The townsfolk screamed with joy every time Gracie would step out onto the street, gracing the world with her presence. Such a pretty girl, everyone would remark. But I did not want to be a pretty girl. There was a part of me whom always wanted to be let loose.

Adam. I had decided to name him that after my cousin, who lives a few towns away. Of course, it came to no shock to my brother, Drew, when I told him that I didn't wish to continue on as Gracie. He always suspected since in the middle of the night we would run around Torres Manor playing sports. However, my parents nearly fainted when I told them. They told me that I could not walk around as a male, that I must continue my life as Gracie. I told them that I would do what I wanted despite their punishment. Finally, we settled that Gracie would die from the grippe.

I had to stay inside for a week while Drew spread rumors of Gracie's illness like wildfire. It gave me time to practice my speech and walk. I got help from my personal servant Eli, who told me the manors a man must have. After a while, I was almost perfect. Still, it was well enough to go on as a male. My parents made the announcement yesterday that their daughter was deceased. Now I am known as Adam Torres, the orphaned nephew of Lord and Lady Torres. They took me in after my family died, also from the grippe.

It was the perfect plan, for my mother has not spoken to her brother in ages. They live far away and no one knows what Adam looks like. It would be easy to say I was him because, with my hair cut and in men clothes, I look like a Torres, but not as close as Grace.

My eyes come to rest on my family. My mother's eyes are rimmed red from tears along with my father's. I know that they are real, for they are mourning the loss of my other half as much – if not more – than the rest of the town. Grace looked just like my mother. The same fair brown hair with her father's piercing blue eyes. Since I had stayed indoors, my hair has grown dark.

Grimly, I take my seat beside my brother. Drew, on the other hand, is sitting there, face swiped of emotion. It's not from lack of affection; rather that he is just a terrible liar.

There are sobs from every corner of the church. Sniffles and snorts make their own sickening song. My gut twists for them. Gracie was the light of the town and I had just killed her. For what reason other than my own selfish desire and longing to be a man. The hot, stinging tears that fall onto my lap are real, for although Gracie is dead, I still feel the pain of her admirers.

Four burly men pick the empty coffin up by the rods sticking from it and we all rise. Eli peels off the wall and comes over to my side. As always, he's wearing black. For a servant, he dresses well. He has black pants and a black coat. Under the coat is a silver vest with a black ascot. I move to give him my hand so he can help me up but he shakes his black haired head ever so slightly.

I curse myself mentally, dropping my hand. Men get themselves up. As we walk outside, Eli puts the umbrella over my head, as he stands in the rain. The water drops trail from his black hair to his green eyes before passing his crooked mouth and dropping on his shirt. I feel guilt again, but do not make the move to allow Eli under. Gracie would have, but Adam is rumored to be rude and egotistical.

Our eyes meet for a moment. He smiles and drops one eyelid in a wink. It says it all; he doesn't blame me for this. I give him a slight nod before they lower the casket into the marked grave. My parents are the first to go and throw dirt, well, mud into the ditch. It marks Gracie's final resting place, for which she will never return; "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust", or so the saying goes.

After he does it, Father rubs his hands on a cloth and puts his arm around my mother. She turns to his embrace, letting out an intense sob that shatters my heart. My hand curls into a fist, stiff at my side. I dig my nails into the soft flesh of my palm, fighting the fierce urge to put my hand on my mother's back. Men do not show such affections, I chide myself.

It starts a line of family and friends who takes turns burying the grave one handful at a time. Drew comes up first and kneels down, his mouth working in a quick prayer. Then he throws the dirt. More and more people I've known come. There's Mr. and Mrs. Nelson who are the town bakers. They first showed Gracie how to properly balance herself. Then there is the town medicine man, Dr. Bhandari, who helped heal Gracie after she fell off her horse.

The faces begin to blur before me as the memories fill my mind. They've all had their time with my other half and now they all bury her. The first time I met the DeLaurier family and they gave me a free book. The Guthrie family with their now three month old child whom Gracie had met before were there. It was so many people.

There's a nudge in my side and all the memories vanish. Eli has his head inclined toward the now empty ditch and I nod. Out of habit, I reach down to pick up my skirts. About midway I remember that I do not wear skirts any longer and thrust my hands boldly into my pockets. I stride up as if I've seen a thousand funerals before. Eli bows and picks up the dirt first. He shuts his eyes, squeezing the mud in his hand, and says quietly:

"May everything go smoothly for Lord Adam. I know not what lies ahead, but let there be no complications for my master. He has had enough."

And then he drops it onto the grave. He smiles at me and wipes his hands and knees free of dirt. Knowing not what to say, I throw my hand into the dirt pile. I stare at the grave in the ground and suddenly get very dizzy. Seeing the casket in the church was different. I could pretend it wasn't me. But here, with this gravestone, marking Gracie Torres is frighteningly real. And this is my fond farewell to myself.

I follow Eli's move and kneel on one knee. Gracie, I think to myself, I never thought of myself as a Gracie. It doesn't seem to make sense, but I know that I was made to be a boy. An Adam. Though the world won't see you anymore, you will continue to impact them for some time. But then it will be my time to shine. I will not miss you. I will not mourn for you. I am happier now than I ever have been.

Then I throw the dirt and Gracie into the grave. The men who carried her away begin to dig and finish burying her. I walk away, my stride light and airy. A great weight has been lifted from these heavy shoulders. Gracie has been put to rest.

It is time for Adam to walk free.


	2. Final Farewell

**A/N Well heres chapter 2. Were actually working on a trailer on youtube for this fic as well. It will be up ASAP. As always reviews are greatly appreciated. :) **

Fiona

I stare at the royally decorated casket where my best friend now lies. The red cloth of branded with her family's emblem in gold. There are flowers of many colors in the back with crystal vases. Well, whoever decorated this will not be invited to my funeral that is for sure. I couldn't imagine having someone's last thought of me be this horribly pieced together funeral.

I know this may seem shallow and cold considering my best friend, with whom I shared everything, has passed, but it's the only way I can get through it. I don't want my thoughts to falter on the fact that this is her funeral or that this is my last goodbye to her. It upsets me so. We were like sisters, if not closer. Sometimes I felt as if we were a couple, the way we joked and played together. But that will be no more.

I swipe an elegantly gloved finger at my eyes, only to find it come back wet. Oh, dear, I am crying! I had promised myself early on I wouldn't do this. I'm Fiona Coyne, daughter of Lord and Lady Coyne. I do not break down. At least, not since the last time I had an emotional breakdown. It was before the whole town during a ball. I had far too much to drink and, well, got very emotional. Though I cannot recall what happened, Gracie informed that I told people that they were liars, beggars, and good for nothings. Needless to say, I received the punishment of a lifetime.

Oh, Gracie, how she always knew the right way to make everyone smile. There was just a certain light inside her that radiated. It was like the way the sun coaxes flowers to bloom in the spring. There was only one person who could make everyone beautiful when they were around. In her eyes, everyone had a talent that needed to come free.

I let out a soft sigh, staring at my gloves. I stare at the way my rings sparkle in the candle glow, letting my mind wander on how I would have dressed everyone in this room. It's not fair that everyone must dress so poorly to this occasion. I think of how Gracie would scold me and find a way to show how beautiful everyone is. Another sigh. I miss her.

It would only be so fitting for there to be rain. Was the world always cliché?

Luckily the funeral is nearing the end, with only a few people remaining to say there final goodbye. Then I get to leave these depressing thoughts and this dreadful rain. Again my mind wanders to the heavenly thoughts of a warm bath to wash away the grime and sorrow that has fully swept through my body. Again, I'm not proud to have these thoughts during such a sad time, but they keep me distracted from reality. Something of which I feel has just ran me over.

I've managed to remain in the shadows through the entire service. Only when I'm sure everyone has gone, I come out of hiding. I slowly walk toward the fresh grave and kneel down. I run my hand over the tomb stone. It reads "Here lays Gracie Aurora Torres, Beloved daughter, sister, and friend. She will be missed." I scoff. How unoriginal. If Gracie could see this she would laugh.

We once had a conversation on the topic of death. She told me she would want a huge party in honor of her life. She would want people to be happy just to have known her. Of course they would mourn, but not in public. Gracie had wanted there to be a party. A huge, extravagant affair where people would dance to the only the best songs, drink the finest and rarest wines, and eat only the best food. They would go to the party laughing and smiling and telling stories and different memories they'd had with her. Then only after the party, in the comfort of their own homes they would cry for their loss. She would waste her whole fortune to make these people happy.

I had told Lord and Lady Torres that that was her dying wish, but they never made heads or tails of the idea. It was only until late last night that I had heard they were indeed throwing a party after the services in her honor. It was open for all and last for a while. I suppose, when I had first talked to Gracie about my funeral, it was just a conversation piece. But now this is real.

It wasn't supposed to come this soon. Not at only seventeen. Hot tears begin to make their way down my face, this time I allow them to fall. And then I'm not sad anymore. I'm angry: Angry at Gracie for leaving me alone, friendless, angry at the lord for giving her this horrible disease, angry at Gracie for not mentioning it until her condition turned critical. Tears pour down my face so quickly that I am no longer aware of what is the rain and what is my own bodily fluid.

"How could you?" I whisper at the grave, despair making my voice tight. "Did you even think of me, huh? What this would do to me?" At this point I'm screaming. "Now what am I supposed to do Gracie? Who do I have to turn to? No one! That's who!"

The few people that remain eye's bore into my back, shocked by my outburst. I think they had just realized that I arrived. "How could you leave me?" I shout at the grave. It's answer is only stony silence. "How could – " My voice breaks. "How could you leave without telling me good-bye!"

I rip my gloves off and begin to throw at dirt at the grave, pound my fists on it, and scream. I just keep asking her why she would do this to me over and over again. This is not fair. We had so many plans made out for us. Suddenly I'm wrapped in a strong embrace. I know it's not a hug, but rather a restraint.

"Fiona, stop this folly. You are causing a scene!" My brother, Declan, hisses in my ear. His voice turns pleading as he continues. "You promised me that you wouldn't make a scene again." He's right. I have a reputation to withhold. I take a deep breath and quickly compose myself. Gracie is gone, no more. I cannot let this tantrum go on.

Squaring my shoulders, I turn to my brother.

"You're right, let us go." I stand and with no emotion on my face, make my way out of the cemetery.


	3. Mask

**A/N Hey guys, thankyou so much for the reviews, it means a lot to us. Oh and the youtube trailer for this fic is now up. It is called Secrets in Toress Manor Degrassi Fadam Fanfic Trailer. Or you can search XOAMBERHEADXO to find it. Let us know what you think. Sincerly Amber and Liz.**

Adam

"Stop looking so miserable. You look as if you've just been to a funeral." Eli reprimands, giving me a stern look that also has partial amusement to it. I straighten in my chair, removing my hand from my face. I find it amusing how I let this boy control me, as if he is my master. As Eli wishes it, so it seems to be most of the time.

However, this time is different. There is nothing to be happy about. Fiona hates me. If I should use such a cute, small term. I believe it's more of a loathe than a hate. My dearest friend had accused me of leaving her without even a goodbye. A stab of betrayal pierced my heart as she uttered the words. I did not mean to hurt her in my process of leaving, but it was so much less to explain when I made the decision. I suppose I did leave her, but for my good health. The more I remained a female, the more I became depressed. There were a few times I went to do away with myself, only to stop out of fear and my love for my dearest friend Fiona. She would be off her knocker without me.

We were always such wonderful friends since the moment our parents introduced us at birth. We would spend our days together walking around the town square, talking endlessly about the silliest of things. However, as we grew older and I began to understand myself, I realized that I wanted to be with her, but not as the girl she knew me to be. It would be ill at ease with us, I assumed. Or that she would depart me for it all together. I came to the conclusion that it would be best to have her in my new life, with the chance of a friendship, than lose it all together.

Had I anticipated she would hate me at such a grand scale, I would have told her of my plans. If she loathes Gracie for dying, then how would she feel when I told her that Gracie is not truly dead? Upon seeing her explosive reaction back at the burial, I think it would be best if I kept this to myself. She would murder me if I told her that. I knew my friend had a flare for the dramatics, but this is was frightening. I was halfway to my carriage when I heard her ground breaking screams, only to turn and see a tiny black dot frantically moving. Oh, how I wished I could run to her and wrap her in my arms. But I cannot do those things anymore. I am not Gracie Torres. I am Adam.

For whatever that is worth.

I rest my head atop my palm once again, appearing to be bored and unbothered. This is all too much to think about before a ball. I give Eli a freezing glare. "I hope – for the sake of your life – that you are only poking fun." I say dryly.

"Oh, yes, yes, I am." The dark minded and dressed servant grins, not believing my threat for a second. Violence was never something I'd appreciated or wished to engage in. Although if pushed far enough, I will strike back. There was a boy once who harassed Fiona and myself until one day I turned and punched him because he called her ugly. Fiona may be dramatic, but never have I seen her be anything less than stunning, even on her worst day.

"Good," I say, tossing a pillow at his face. The movement is so sudden he doesn't have time to react. It hits him in the chest and he nearly falls over from shock. "Because I would have to find some way to make you pay for your insensitivity," I smirk, feeling a little better.

"Oh? And – pray – what would that be? Tossing more of the softest pillows money can buy at me?" Eli stops his current task of shining my shoes long enough to stagger back and clutch his heart. His green eyes are wide. "Have mercy on me oh terrorizing lord, for I do not think my heart could handle such fluff."

I roll my eyes, letting out a snort. "No, dark being, I think not. Anything nice and cute and innocent instantly kills thee."

"Now, that is an untruth." Eli says, seeming to get over the wrath of my pillows. He strides over to me and ruffles my hair, smiling. "I am around you constantly and have yet to burst into flames, have my insides turned out, or any other horrible thing."

Whatever response I have is cut off by a shy knock on the door. Eli goes to open it and his mouth quirks up into a smile as my chambermaid, Clare, comes in. She bows her long, braided red hair as she dips into a curtsey. Clare is very beautiful indeed. She has a round, charismatic face with creamy skin and shockingly blue eyes. She's a sad tilt to her eyes but a very welcoming smile brought about by two full lips.

Though I admit Clare is stunning, I have no intimate feelings toward her. She was raised in this estate with her mother and we grew up together. I feel like we are siblings, nothing more.

"Adam," She greets in a soft, angelic voice. I insist Clare calls me by my name, and she does, when no one is around. "The guests are arriving." She drapes my party outfit over the edge of my bed. It's a black over coat with matching pants. There's a silk white undershirt that has lace along the cuffs. There's also a red velvet vest with a matching ascot. Atop this glorious attire, there is a mask.

It's a half face mask, ending in a scoop to hug my nose. The mask itself is a glossy black with red, shimmering accents around the eyes. It curves up into a crescent moon with more red accents glowing that make a curling V. Around the mask is white swirls that have some lighter red along the side. I pluck it from the clothes, running my hand across it. Surprisingly, it's almost weightless. "It's stunning." I breathe.

Clare tosses a smug look at Eli. "And you said that he would not take a liking to it."

Eli shrugs, looking like he could care less. His eyes have not left Clare since she walked in the room. I feel remorse for him. There is a strict rule that doesn't allow people to court when they both work in this house. Sadly, they both need the money so they cannot afford to quit to pursue their love. "I have been known to be wrong once or twice."

"Or every time I am around." Clare smiles and Eli immediately looks brighter than before. Here are two people who really bring out the best in one another. They stare at each other for a little more before she turns to me. "Now, you must hurry and get dressed."

Eli's wistful eyes watch as Clare gives another bow and then is gone. He gives a lingering stare at the closed door before looking at me. I am pawing at my old dirty clothes, trying to get the new ones on as quickly as possible. I have always loved clothes and these are phenomenal. I cannot wait a moment longer to see how they will look on me. The servant shakes his head before grinning. "I thought only women loved clothes."

I stop, shirt just shy of being put over my head, to give him another freezing glare. He's not worth the trouble of finding something witty to say in return. Instead, I continue to dress myself before going over to the mirror. I look dashing. Not innocent like Gracie, but strong and sophisticated. There's a new confidence around me and an even brighter feeling of joy. I look like a man. A very handsome one at that.

"Eli," I say, tearing my gaze from myself. He has finished my shoes and is lounging in my chair, twirling the rag around his fingers. "I have one last request for you tonight."

"As you wish," the servant nods.

"I want you to accompany me to the ball. Not as my servant, but as my friend. Therefore, I need you to pick an outfit and a mask of mine." His eyebrows disappear into his hairline. I smile and motion my hands impatiently at my closet. "Hurry now. I am going to need SOMEONE to converse with."


	4. Unproper

**A/N Sorry its taken so long to update, i was a way for the weekend and didn't have the chance. but we're back. Btw for those of you having trouble finding the trailer on youtube i posted a link to it on my profile so watch and comment on it. :) Thank you so much for the reviews guys. A special thanks to Pokeariana. Your review was so sweet and really did make me and Liz's night. As long as you guys keep enjoying the story we'll keep updating. Well i'll stop rambling now and let you read. **

Fiona

"I still don't understand why Robert couldn't properly escort you to the ball tonight Fiona." My brother says to me, for probably the millionth time since we entered the carriage. It's stuffy and rather damp in this dark confined space, and Declan breathing down my neck does nothing to help. If anything, it's hot head and fiery mouth that is making so uncomfortable.

"I told you Declan, we decided it best just to meet at the party, besides I don't need a man to accompany me." I say, fanning myself again. We hit another bump in the road and I bite my lip against a swear. This is by far the worst escort I have had. "Remind me to dismiss this coachman when this is all good and done." I say hotly. Declan lets out a snort, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Best for whom," He inquires. "You are not just some peasant or beggar on the street. Imagine how this will make you look. Or our family. Do you ever think of Father's reputation over yourself?"

I shoot him a glare through my fan. I often think of father over myself. Though, I do have somewhat of a tendency to lose my temper, which does not mean I would ever risk my own desires for father. I am – after all – courting Robert, the bore, to make father happy. Other than that, I would not give someone like Robert the time of day. All he ever speaks of his education and apprenticeship. A voice startles me from my internal feud.

"Calm down darling." The woman at his side puts a hand on his knee, instantly calming him. Holly J Sinclair, daughter of Reverend Sinclair has been smitten with my brother for quite some time now. I hate to admit it but they are rather sweet together and she has an effect on him like no other as ever been able to do. Declan gives her a smile.

"My apologies." He takes a hold of her hand and lays a gentle kiss upon it. I take note that the apology is to her and not myself. Well then, dear brother, I do not find your apology near suitable. "I don't mean to nag, I just feel as though Fiona does not take her responsibilities serious enough."

"I'm right here you know." I say feeling the need to intervene. Everything about Declan recently has been about putting me down. I cannot imagine Holly finds him fun to be around. He is a nagging, pessimistic fool. "It's one ball, I'll walk in, find Robert and we'll dance and spend the rest of the evening together." I draw out the words slowly. Mentally, I plead for it to get through his thick head.

"That isn't the point!" He shouts, causing Holly and I to flinch. "A lady should never enter such an affair unescorted."

"Well, this lady does." As the carriage comes to a halt I let myself out, and alone enter the doors to the ball. It's beautiful. The room is filled with people conversing and dancing, looking as though they are having the time of their lives. Instead, they are rejoicing the death of my friend. My only friend, at that. There are waiters walking around serving champagne and caviar, tables with silk red table clothes, and a giant chandelier in the center of the room. It's just how Gracie would have wanted it. My eyes scan the room for Robert. I spot him talking to some men by an ice sculpture.

"You know you shouldn't be drinking." I say in a joking manner before slipping the drink out of his hand and taking a sip for myself. Instead of the laugh I was hoping to receive Robert turns with an icy glare.

"Please excuse me." He says to his friends before dragging me away. "Don't you ever interrupt me when I'm with my friends again." He reprimands in a whisper to avoid causing a commotion. "Hasn't anyone taught you proper manners?" I'm about to respond when he walks away. I am left in complete shock. How dare he address me in such tone? I turn and find him embracing my mother. Apparently, no one has taught him how to address a lady either.

"Fiona darling, you didn't inform me Robert would be attending." She scolds as I approach her and my father. They are sitting at a table next to Gracie's parents. My father and her father have their heads still bent in an intimate relationship. Probably about politics or some other boring thing men tend to talk about during festivities.

Yawn. Does no one know how to properly engage in conversation anymore? Honestly, if one died from being boring, everyone in this damned place would be keeling over and I would have to plan more funerals. Which, at the thought of planning another one, a dull ache throbs in my chest. Thankfully, a waiter walks by and I pluck a glass from his sterling tray. I finish the bubbly concoction within three sips.

"My apologies." I say, trying to sound sincere as possible. My mother thinks Robert will make the perfect husband to me one day, whereas I'm not so sure. I know Gracie would never approve. She'd always had a dislike for the boy, ever since we first started courting last spring. Lately I haven't been too fond of him either. He's been very pushy and dull.

Actually, no, not dull. Only the conversations we carry are dull. There are times when he's passionate, eyes burning with such intensity that I can't help but stare. Though the moments only seem to come when he is showing me around to his soon-to-be boss or when he his reprimanding me. He seems to get arousal from my fear and lately his words have been harsh and many. I practically forced myself to invite him to this, since I knew he would be asked later by a business head and would throw a fit knowing I did not tell him.

I would hate for him to lose a job because of me, the selfish girl who never got over herself. That is not true, Fiona, a small voice says from the back of my mind. I blink and turn, expecting to see the figure that belonged to this beautiful, innocent voice. Gracie. But my turn was for naught. Gracie was nowhere to be found, save if I wished to dig up her body which was now buried. Again, there is an ache, followed by the subtle prick of tears that are hidden behind my dam of eyes.

"Please excuse me." My mother and Robert have already engaged in another conversation, so they don't mind as I walk away.

"Champagne my lady?" A waiter offers as I pass. I take it and give him a polite smile. This is going to be a long night.


	5. Breaking Proper

**A/N Hey guys so sorry for the long wait, we've had a horrible case of writers block but don't worry cuz this chapter will make up for it. Thanks for all the reviews :) Oh n while reading this chapter listen to Kiss Me the New Found Glory version. It sets the mood haha. Well here ya go, hope you guys like it. Btw the more reviews we get the faster we'll update. **

Adam

"Now introducing," began the town crier, who felt the need to announce every being that strolls in. I can only fathom who it could be this time. Many times I looked up, hoping it to be someone interesting, but my hopes were for naught. Fiona hasn't been here. Not, I remind myself, that she has ever been on time for something in her entire existence. She believes that only peasants are on time, for they must make a good reputation.

"Robert Beckonridge and his courting partner Fiona Coyne."

I should have known they would come together. However, I still remained shocked upon hearing this. Fiona was here with Robert. I loathed Robert, which is saying something because I have never loathed anyone in my life. He was a horrible human being, as far as I could see. He only worries about his work and his image. Fiona is a free spirit and needs to be treated as such; not chained down with someone else's worries planted on her perfect head.

My God, does she look ever so stunning by the candle's glow, even with her face trapped by a black velvet mask. It's accented around the eyes with shimmering silver specks, reflections dancing in her eyes. There's also a sheer white flower-shaped ribbon that is attached with an equally translucent black bow. Her dress is a glossy black skirt that leads up to a corset lined with white lace. The skirt folds and ripples in an endless yet enticing way.

At the base of her through is a mourning choker necklace with a diamond in the center. It's neatly tucked in between two perfect dark curls. Robert whisked her away, but I still remained staring at the spot my friend had one stood. I thank God that I have concealed myself in a dark corner, for she would have certainly noticed my gawking by now and taken a parasol to my head. If there is one thing that Fiona has a love/hate relationship with, it's attention.

Too much, after all, is a bad thing, though no one would seem to think that. Those without attention want it more than anything in the world, but those with it would throw it away if they could. Being noticed is something that I am trying to avoid; since there is an off chance people will recognize me.

So far, it's worked. After an hour of watching people socialize and try to forget my death, my throat feels tight; as if there was something trying to come up. I need companionship. Eli had left me as soon as Clare came by. He has been talking with her ever since, in a different secluded spot. My eyes scan the abnormally large ball room and I spot Clare and Eli, his head bent close to hers in one of their intimate conversations.

I lean forward, trying to mimic his careless yet flirtatious posture, only to give up when someone asks me if I am preparing to puke. With a sigh, I heave myself back into the chair. Maybe becoming a boy was not my brightest plan. They make it look so easy with how they do everything, but it is difficult. From a young age, I was taught to carry myself like a lady: Head straight, shoulders squared, neck tall. Sitting is almost the same, only legs tucked neatly and hands resting on your lap.

Men are so fortunate. They are able to slouch if they freely wish it. I roll my shoulders in an attempt to loosen myself up and take two deep breaths. My body instantly melts into the plush chair and I do it. I slouch! Ha, perhaps I shouldn't doubt myself so soon. Take that, boys!

With a new sense of excitement, I cover my face with my mask. I begin to pick my way past the crowd to the dance floor when I spot Fiona. Her posture is rigid, face red. She's waving an empty glass at a waiter. In her other hand is yet another glass. It's seeping alcohol onto the floor with each angry jerk of her body.

I abandon my current task of dancing and go over to Fiona. She must be drunk. She is always dramatic when she is intoxicated. I place my hand on the helpless waiter's shoulder and motion for him to leave. I have never seen feet move so quickly.

"What did'ja do that for, huh?" Fiona slurred. Her blue eyes narrow under the mask. I can't keep a smirk off my face. She was always harmless in appearance.

"I do believe that you should have a seat." I inclined my head toward the chair. "You are very intoxicated. Women never can hold a drink."

She sat – or dropped, really – onto the chair with such an out of character elegance. She is far more gone than I first feared. Fiona fixed me with a heavier glare, but I am still amused. "Beg you pardon, but I dun think you shlould speak to a proper woman of sssuch high standardsss in that regard, peasant. I am Fiona Coyne."

"There is a proper woman here?" I inquired. It is not as hard to be rude and arrogant as I thought. In fact, it's rather amusing. Having never even thrown a fit, my adrenaline is pumping under this new outspokenness. However, my Fiona doesn't find this one bit amusing. Her hands are balled into fists, mouth agape.

"How dare you!" Fiona roared. "I am a proper woman!"

"'Tis proper to consume twice one's weight in spirit here," I challenge, raising an eyebrow. "I should have moved to this town years ago!"

Fiona's chest rises and falls in clipped, angry breaths. "Who do you think you are to speak to me –"

"I am Adam Torres; Lord and Lady Torres's nephew. I do not know whom you assume you are to take that tone toward me. After all, this is my home just as much as it is theirs." I pause and her eyes widen as she digests this information. Her face loses its lovely coloring and for a moment I'm worried she'll faint. But then a shade of green coats her pale feature and I make haste to get her outside.

She did not retch though, just slumped to the ground, hugging a pole. Her cheek was pressed against it, eyes shut. I watched, hands stuffed into my pockets. What was I to do while she stands there, having a panic attack? I cannot help her, for that would be out of character, but I would like nothing more than to put my arm around her and tell her everything is all right.

I am always there for Fiona, but then, standing there, I could not be. How I hated myself for it. Abruptly, I turned my attention to the pale, silver moon. The rain and come and gone, leaving a deep purple blanketed sky that was filled with bright, twinkling stars. Dark shades of green and reds filled the garden. It was always the most beautiful place in the whole home, in my opinion. I used to fancy taking strolls and drinking in the view of different flowers and their fragrances.

The sound of crack breaks through the still night and I reel back in shock. My hand flies to my cheek and I turn to see Fiona, a true vision of rage. Her once neatly curled hair was wild and sprang from all directions. The mask had been carelessly tossed aside, revealing deep, angry eyes and flushed cheeks.

"Whatever was that for?" My voice is incredulous. How did I hear her get up or come behind me? More importantly, why was I smacked? I have never seen a woman smack a man before and I was not too keen on having this be my first time witnessing one.

I rubbed my cheek, suppressing a whimper. It hurt.

"For treating me the way you did." Having seemed to come off her quick fit, Fiona had a smug smile placed on her lush lips. She smoothes her hair back into place, along with her dress before spinning on her heals to grab her mask. Still intoxicated, she ended up stumbling and nearly falling.

I react before thinking, stopping her fall and pulling her against me. I was very flat chest-ed for a woman, but I still released her just as quickly as I had grabbed her, as a matter of precaution. Fiona's eyes were guarded as she eyed me up and down. I assumed an air of carelessness, leaning against the pole she should have remained clinging to.

"Women," I smirk. "Constantly throwing themselves at me."

With a huff, Fiona began another furious race to go back inside. I know why, too. She wishes to drown herself yet again in spirits. I can't have her do that, for she would never hear the end of it from her parents. Not only is it in front of my family that she would look like a fool, but in front of the whole town.

I snaked my hand out, grabbing her wrist. "Dance with me." I said.

Her eyes travelled up the length of my arm in distaste. As she reached my face, her lip curled in a thorough look of loathing and utter revulsion. One would presume I asked her to strip down and worship Satan in a pig pen. But beneath the disgusted look, there was shock. "Why would I dance with you?" She snarled.

I shrugged coolly. "I would just assume you would, considering that you either have to options: remain outside and dance with me or go inside, make a fool of yourself, and then get thrown out of the house for being utterly wasted." I stated, as if I could care less which choice she made.

"Now, which is it?"


End file.
